Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  It wasn’t until Robert closed the door behind them and they started moving toward the palace that she finally spoke again. “I’ll wait in the carriage while you deliver the book.”

  He grinned in response. He couldn’t resist kissing the corner of her mouth. “Is my intrepid young thespian afraid of the Queen?”

  Antonia blushed at his kiss, even as she huffed her irritation. “Do be sensible. You can’t introduce someone like me to Queen Victoria. I’m an actress. A nobody. And she’s the monarch of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. She’s the most powerful person in the world.”

  “You underestimate yourself. You’re the daughter of a squire, the granddaughter of Vladamir Nevsky, and an amazing woman in your own right. Don’t forget, you’re also the niece of the Czar of Russia. That’s no small thing.”

  Antonia paled and then pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it? That’s why this book is so dangerous.” She tugged at the strings of her reticule and then extracted the church register. She frowned as she handed it to him. “Can’t you deliver this to the Queen without me?”

  He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. As he took the book, all his lingering good humor faded. He fell silent, letting the volume fall open in his hands. Either by design or frequent use, the pages which caused the most consternation were the ones to which the book always opened of its own accord.

  Antonia burrowed against him, trusting him. Trusting that he’d help her. He wanted to be deserving of that trust. “I want to protect you, but how can I?” His words were muffled because his lips were still pressed against her hair. “As long as this book is in the world, it poses a threat.” He closed his eyes, hoping to envision a solution, but all he saw was darkness. There was no clear path forward. Not as long as the book could reveal Antonia’s relationship to the czar. He opened his eyes and shook his head as he stared down at the odious volume. “Perhaps I should simply destroy it,” he said, tightening his grip on the cover. “I can’t think of another way.”

  “No. Please don’t.” Antonia jerked back and clutched at his hand, causing him to ease his grip on the leather-bound book. “That would be treason. I can’t let you betray England to protect me. We need to find another way.”

  Robert sighed. “I can’t think of one.”

  She took a deep breath and then shook her head in frustration. “Perhaps if we examine the book we’ll find something. A solution.”

  “If that were possible, Frederick would already have found it.”

  “Let’s try. Can you tell me what it says?”

  Robert removed his arm from her shoulders as he glanced down at the open book. He smoothed his hand over the pages. Although he could still recall a smattering of Russian, translating it would normally have been beyond his abilities. Fortunately, Frederick had explained the translation to him, and Robert remembered most of it.

  Robert dragged his finger down the left side of the page. “This is where Father Sergey recorded your uncle’s birth along with his mother’s death,” he said, pointing to a spot halfway down the page. “And this is where he mentions the arrival of the czar’s entourage, including Czaritsa Maria and their infant son,” he said, pointing to the bottom of the page. “Maybe he decided to record their arrival because so many of them died while in the village.”

  He dragged his finger along the last line, squinting down at scribblings of ink. “Here is the infant’s name. Nikolai Pavlovich, third son of Czar Paul,” he muttered, sliding his finger to the top of the next page, “and here’s where Father Sergey recorded the date of his death. A number of other deaths are listed here as well. The illness that struck them was a terrible one.”

  “What a tragedy. Grandfather’s entire village must have been affected. Everyone must have lost someone close to them.” Antonia leaned closer as she peered down at the page, and he caught the fresh scent of her soap and saw the flash of pale skin at the back of her neck below her upswept hair. “Where does he mention my uncle’s adoption?”

  Robert swallowed and flipped the page. “The entry is slightly cryptic. Frederick had to explain it to me, otherwise I never would have understood what I was reading. Father Sergey writes that the motherless child was adopted by the childless mother. He doesn't list their names here but it’s obvious to whom he’s referring. Especially since Czaritsa Maria was often referred to as the childless mother.”

  “Because Catherine the Great took each of her children from her? Poor Maria. I feel sorry for her. How could her mother-in-law have been so heartless?”

  “Stop that carriage!” a man shouted. Robert felt their carriage slowing, followed by an angry shout from their coachman. The carriage lurched as the horses surged forward, but then the carriage slowed again.

  Something was very wrong.

  He leaned forward, peering out the window. More horses clattered up, and people on the street began shouting to protest the disruption.

  Robert closed the book, bookmarking it with his finger as he leaned closer to the window to assess the situation.

  A group of horsemen surrounded them. Robert recognized many of the Russian riders. Their eyes were hard and determined. Today they weren’t pretending to be footmen— they were soldiers— trained and deadly.

  They must want the book. Did they plan to kidnap Antonia as well? They couldn’t be that reckless.

  They forced the carriage driver to pull to a stop. A moment later, someone yanked open the door closest to Antonia.

  A pale-skinned, black-haired man jumped onto the step and stood silhouetted in the doorway. His broad shoulders blocked most of the sunlight, but Robert immediately recognized Davydov— one of the Russians who’d hunted them beneath the theater.

  Davydov’s gaze darted around the carriage until it fixed on Antonia’s reticule. He lunged for it, and Antonia immediately let go.

  The Russian hesitated, seemingly thrown off by her willingness to let him take her bag. He suddenly lunged forward again, surprising Robert by seizing Antonia’s forearm and dragging her from the carriage. Robert made a grab for her, but she slipped away.

  Robert stumbled onto the street, the book still clutched in his hand. Davydov shoved Antonia toward his cohorts. They twisted her arms behind her back as Davydov whirled to face Robert.

  Davydov stood between Robert and Antonia, his black hair disheveled from the tussle. He kept his gaze fixed on Robert, and then he spied the book— his prize.

  His eyes widened. He threw Antonia’s reticule to one side, where it landed with a splash in a grimy puddle of melting sludge.

  A crowd gathered around them. Apparently no one wanted to interfere. A couple of men grinned at one another. It was as though they were all watching a juggling show or a street performance. These weren’t gentlemen. They were laborers and shopkeepers. Workmen and stevedores. Men who were curious about the goings-on of the gentry, but would avoid involvement.

  “Hand over the book,” Davydov demanded. “If you do, my men will release her.”

  “You’re bluffing.” Robert narrowed his eyes. “You won’t hurt Miss Winter. She’s too important to the ambassador. The czar would have your heads if anything happened to her. Let her go.” Robert wasn’t certain his words were true, but nevertheless he imbued them with confidence amid scorn.

  “That does not mean we will give her to you.” Davydov turned and jerked his chin toward of one of the men holding Antonia and he began to drag her away.

  Antonia struggled. “No. You can’t do this. I’m a British citizen.”

  Some of the men in the crowd began to shift their feet, and one of them yelled something indistinguishable.

  “Bystro,” Davydov shouted, urging the soldier to hurry.

  “Wot’s that jabber?” a man yelled in an angry tone. “Them blokes is Russian. We don’t want no foreigners comin’ ’ere an’ stealing our women off the streets.”

  The irate crowd surged
forward, swarming around the soldiers. Davydov glanced back, but he’d already been cut off from his men. Antonia’s small form disappeared in the chaos.

  Robert barely noticed Davydov turn back to face him. Where was Antonia? He couldn’t see her. She’d been swallowed up by a sea of brawling men.

  Then he caught a flash of a shiny bit of silver down low, near the cobblestone street. He spotted Antonia leaning over and plucking a small item from her boot. It glinted in the winter sunlight. Her knife? It had to be.

  Only one man still held Antonia. The others were defending themselves from angry Londoners. Fists thudded into flesh and men grunted in pain. The remaining soldier holding Antonia tried to yank her upright as he pulled her out of the throng and toward Davydov. She stumbled forward, and as she pulled away she jabbed at the soldier’s hand with her blade. It sank into his flesh, and her captor let out a loud yelp.

  Antonia broke free, sidestepping the man as she darted toward Robert.

  “I want that book!” Davydov yelled. “It belongs to the Russian government.”

  “It belongs to Father Sergey.” Robert risked a glance at Antonia. Her gaze was calm and steady, and he fumbled as he enfolded her small hand in his.

  “No,” Davydov said with a shake of his head. “It belongs to Czar Nicholas and to Russia.”

  Antonia lurched toward the carriage, pulling her hand free. Was she reaching inside? She spun back, brandishing his cane. She presented the handle to him. He gave her a sharp grin as he grabbed hold of it and withdrew the blade.

  The Russian who’d been holding Antonia abruptly barreled toward Robert, his gaze fixed on the church register. But then the man’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the épée. Even so, he didn't attempt to change course as he hurled himself toward his goal— the book.

  Robert lifted the tip of the blade to point at the man’s chest, but the Russian didn’t swerve as he continued his charge.

  The slender tip of the blade slipped between the soldier’s ribs, and at least two inches of the steel disappeared within his flesh before Robert felt its edge catch on something— a rib perhaps. The man came to an abrupt halt.

  The Russian’s eyes widened as he stared down at the circle of red blossoming on the left side of his white shirt. The blade pulled free as he dropped to his knees and collapsed face-first into the dirty London street.

  Stunned, Robert took a step back, then another. He didn’t think he’d killed the man, but the wound was a serious one. He’d probably punctured his lung.

  Davydov let out a roar of anger and dove forward. Before Robert could react, Davydov knocked him to the ground. He slammed his fist into the side of Robert’s head and yanked the book from his hands.

  “No!” Robert yelled.

  Antonia tugged on his arm, trying to pull him to his feet. “Let it go. We need to leave,” she pleaded. “Hurry.” She began pulling him toward the still-open door of the carriage.

  It was only then that Robert realized the mob had been driven away and Davydov’s soldiers were now staring at their fallen comrade.

  They looked momentarily stunned, but for how long?

  As Robert climbed into the carriage, he glanced over his shoulder to see the soldiers’ attention shift to him. Davydov waved the book he’d recovered, but then he became aware of the soldier lying on the ground, his blood pooling around his body. Davydov’s face contorted with rage. He and the others began lurching toward the carriage, stiff at first, and then faster. Faster. Their eyes were filled with fury and retribution.

  “Go!” Robert shouted to the driver. The vehicle lurched forward, throwing the unlatched door wide open. As Robert stretched his arm outside the carriage to grab the flapping door and close it, the nearest man giving chase lunged forward and barely missed grabbing hold of the door handle as it eluded his grasp. Through the window of the carriage, Robert locked gazes with the man.

  Davydov.

  He’d made an enemy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  There is nothing that disgusts a man like getting beaten at chess by a woman.

  - Charles Dudley Warner

  Antonia gripped the edge of the seat as the carriage rocked to a halt in front of Robert’s house. Numbness spread through her. She still couldn’t quite assimilate the fact that they’d lost the book after everything Robert had done to help her. It seemed absurd.

  Absurd but true.

  Robert held his silver-headed cane in a fierce grip as he exited the carriage. He reached up to help Antonia. As soon as her feet were on the ground, he turned and flung open the door of his home, the knob slipping from his grasp so that the door bounced forcefully against the wall. Antonia quietly closed it and then hurried to follow him down the hallway.

  Robert stormed past Landon, who appeared nonplussed by the display, and then burst into the study. Antonia followed him into the room, but Landon paused at the doorway as though not quite certain if he should enter.

  Antonia helped him with his choice by removing her hat and holding it out for him to take. He swallowed and then stepped forward, taking the hat and then assisting her with her coat.

  Robert blinked as he began to take note of his surroundings. He tossed his cane on the desk with a clatter and began shedding his outer garments with jerky movements. He shoved them toward Landon and then nodded a dismissal. Landon immediately scurried from the room.

  Antonia surveyed the room. Little had changed since she’d last been there. Was that chess set a new addition? Perhaps not. The game appeared to be in progress— or perhaps abandoned.

  A statue, or rather a bust of Apollo, seemed to stare at her in a smug and superior fashion from its perch on a pedestal across the room. Apollo’s cool gaze seemed to arrogantly dismiss the folly of mere mortals, so she stuck her tongue out at him in a fit of pique. She didn’t need some ancient statue glaring down its nose at her all night. Perhaps she’d manage to turn it on its pedestal to face the corner.

  Robert moved stiffly across the room and then turned to retrace his steps. Judging by the rug, it happened frequently. He dragged his fingers through his dark hair, leaving it in disarray. She wanted to reach out and soothe him, but it wasn’t the right time. He needed to burn off some of his excess energy, like a top spinning and careening off the walls until it spun itself down and toppled over.

  How had the afternoon altered so dramatically? The judgment had finally gone her way in court today, but then their luck had deserted them. As if transmuted by an alchemist’s spell gone awry, the golden day had turned into a dull, leaden one. The moment she’d begun to relax and believe that life might work out for someone like her, everything had upended. Again.

  It was as though every bit of her bad luck from the past year had rolled itself into a sticky ball before seeking a new target. Unfortunately, the closest, most convenient one had been Robert.

  Cold guilt seeped into Antonia. This was all her fault. If not for the way she’d complicated his life, none of this would have happened. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself.

  Her actions must have caught Robert’s attention, because he stopped to stare at her. An instant later, he stepped closer and covered her hands with his. He was warm. So warm.

  “You’re freezing.” He moved past her toward a chest and plucked a wool blanket from its depths.

  She recognized the soft-brown blanket with the reddish-yellow flecks of color. Ocher, she thought, naming the color. She and that blanket had been on intimate terms with one another. Her half-naked body had been wrapped in its soft folds when Robert had carried her to her bed, and she’d developed a strong attachment to it. It had been missing from her room the next day, and she’d wondered where it had gone. One of the servants must have put it back where it belonged. Apparently, Antonia had disturbed the normal order of things.

  Robert moved closer and reached around her to drape her in its woolen warmth. She might be disruptive, but Robert seemed to cherish her despite the complications she br
ought with her.

  As the rich, soft-brown blanket enfolded her, a sense of rightness enveloped her. She belonged here with this man. He completed her. It was as though they were a matched set that had been separated long ago and had finally been reunited. He filled a spot in her soul that had remained empty for far too long.

  Robert gathered the front of the blanket under her chin and she took hold of it so it wouldn’t fall from her shoulders. He gently pulled free a strand of loose hair caught between her collar and the blanket, his fingers tracing along the sensitive skin under her ear. He brushed the hair away from her forehead and then leaned down to place a kiss there. His soft, warm lips lingered on her skin and he inhaled deeply, as though drawing her in and savoring her.

  She leaned toward him, her body responding to him of its own accord. Her arms were pinned inside the blanket, but she managed to free one and slide her hand to his waist. As she touched his jacket, he stepped back, breaking contact with her.

  Their gazes locked. “I should have anticipated they’d do something like that.” He stopped and rubbed his hand down his face. “What if they’d harmed you?”

  “I’m perfectly fine, as are you. The attack wasn’t your doing, it was theirs. I’d never have imagined they’d have the audacity to attack us on a public street in London. And in broad daylight? It’s nearly beyond belief. We must have been followed.”

  “Of course we were followed.”

  She stiffened at the irritation in his tone. But then she realized he was angry with himself, not her.

  He began pacing again. “I shouldn’t have let my intentions be so obvious. I’m sure they knew I was taking the book to the Queen.”

  “You couldn’t have known they’d be so bold. So desperate.”

  “I should have. Frederick certainly would have predicted it. He trusted me, and I let him down again.” Robert’s voice was thick with self-reproach. “He always thinks seven steps ahead of everyone else.” He glanced at the chess set with its pieces arranged in mid-game. He froze and then crossed the room, staring down at the chess board.